


So ... What's the Next Step?

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: When Life Gives You a Blight ... [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The group has just left Lothering after aquiring two more party members … and two dwarves.  Regan has to figure out what their next step is, and Alistair has a secret.  (Yes, I suck at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	So ... What's the Next Step?

“So I have an apostate mage who didn’t even _want_ to come, an only slightly senior warden, a murdering qunari, a chantry sister convinced she’s heard the voice of the maker, two dwarven merchants … one of whom only seems to be able to say _one_ word, and my dog; none of them get along with anyone but me … and I’m not even sure the witch does _that_ much, and _somehow_ , I’m supposed to be ok with this?”  Regan sighed, staring down at the parchment in front of her.  They had just set up camp, having put several miles between themselves and Lothering before darkness totally fell, and she had no clue where to go next.  “So, what are our options, again?”  

“We have treaties for the dwarves, elves, and mages.”  When Alistair realized she was only a few feet away, staring at the only map of Ferelden they’d been able to find, he moved over to join her.  The map itself was regrettably tiny; Duncan’s had been _much_ better, but it was somewhere back in the ruins of Ostagar.  So it was all they had for the time being, and when he knelt next to her, he accidentally bumped shoulders as he reached to point out a location.  “Sorry about that.  We’re … kind of around here, I think.”

She reached out and grabbed his leg to keep from falling over.  He hadn’t bumped into her _that_ hard, but her balance was still off thanks to the number of wounds she’d sustained in the tower … and during a rather unpleasant skirmish with a pack of poisonous spiders in Lothering.  When his arm reached around to help pull her upright, she fought the blush that tried rising, blaming it on her embarrassment for nearly falling over.  “It’s ok.  Thanks.”  Her voice was barely above a whisper while she tried to resituate herself and follow where his finger was pointing, but she never made an effort to move his hand.  “You think?”

“Yes, well … this map isn’t the best, and our dwarven friends don’t seem to have anything better at the moment.”  She felt … nice … pressed against him.  Alistair gave her a little squeeze, smiling a little when she moved just a bit closer.

She told herself she was just trying to stay warm; the fire was good and all, but she was still chilly … that was it.  “Maybe we’ll find one in the next village … wherever that is.”  She frowned, trying to remember what her father had taught her about … well, any of the people they were going to need to meet with.  “Orzammar’s way over here, right?”  She pointed at an area near the northern end of the Frostback Mountains.

“That’s right.  It’ll be a _long_ walk no matter when we head that way, and really cold right now.”  Alistair couldn’t stop the shiver that went down his spine at the thought.  “I’d suggest we _not_ try going there until we have a chance to get more supplies.”  He could see it now … the entire world lost to the blight because the two remaining Ferelden wardens froze to death … or starved because they hadn’t brought enough food or warm clothes.

“Good point; so the dwarves can wait.  I know where the mages are … or, at least close to.”  She pointed at the general area of Lake Calenhad where she remembered visiting with her father years ago.  She made no mention of Highever, though the idea to go survey the situation crossed her mind, especially since it was just a bit past the Tower according to the map.  She knew that in her current state, she’d be no match for whatever soldiers Howe still had there.    “Where did you say the elves should be?”

He pointed at a large area that was shaded green.  “I’m pretty sure there’s at least one clan in the Brecillian Forest, though precisely _where_ in the forest, I’m not sure.”  He noticed her idea of Kinloch Hold’s location was a bit too far to the north … too close to Highever to be accurate.  Cautiously, he reached over, wrapped his fingers around her hand and pulled her finger down just a bit.  “I think the Circle is more … here, but you were close.”

Maker, his hand was so … warm.  No, wait … that was her; she felt heat flood her cheeks at his touch, though she didn’t pull away.  Maker’s ass, why was she blushing?  It was just _one_ touch … a simple action of moving her hand.  He wasn’t even trying to _hold_ it … just _move_ it.  Why was she blushing?  At least between the darkness and the off-color lighting from the fire, he shouldn’t be able to tell, right?  Wait, he hadn’t let go yet, had he?  “I … see.  So, it looks like our best bet would be to head to Redcliff … or the tower?  If I remember right, either one should have someone we can trade with … maybe stock up.  And I’m assuming there’s a tavern near the circle?  I _know_ Redcliff has one.”

He didn’t want to let go; her skin was soft, warm to his touch.  He wasn’t surprised; she’d been sitting close enough to the fire that she should be toasty, but … it felt … different.  He gave her hand a light squeeze, trying to fight to keep his cheeks from turning red.  “I … um ….”  He cleared his throat, finally bringing his hand back to rest on his own thigh.  The sooner they went to Redcliff, the sooner he’d have to tell her the truth.  There were too many people in Redcliff that knew his secret; _someone_ would let it slip.  And he still had no clue how to tell her.  There were fewer people who had a chance of knowing who he was at Kinloch Hold.  But they _did_ need more supplies before they went too much further, and Redcliff _would_ be easier to reach.  “I … guess since Redcliff’s a little closer …?”

“Fair enough.”  She thought it a little odd that he sounded like he didn’t want to go to Redcliff first.  It was closer, though there would be some back tracking involved.  And didn’t he say he was raised in Redcliff … at least until he was given to the templars?  “I guess we’ll set out at first light?”  His nod of agreement earned a small smile as she folded up the map and tucked it away.  “Sleep well, Alistair.”  

He watched as she rose and walked toward her tent, his whispered “you too” too soft to carry over the chirping crickets.  He’d expected her to disappear into the small tent that was her own for the night, perhaps invite her mabari inside for warmth.  But that’s not what she did.  Though she didn’t have first watch, she plucked up her blades from where she’d left them when they started setting up camp and walked over to a small clearing and a makeshift dummy just outside of the small circle of tents.

She took a deep breath and let her blades hang loose at her sides, rolling her shoulders to loosen up.  After a few seconds, she dropped into the first ready position Rory had ever taught her and started going through a routine he’d developed to help her warm up, focus … and even relax after rough days.  She’d started using this method to refine her techniques a while back and was always pleasantly surprised when she found a way to tweak what she was doing to get a better strike.  

Alistair found himself unable to look away, though he knew he should.  He watched the way she moved, studied the tiny shifts in her stance and how she held her blades with each position.  He envied her, in a way.  She seemed to be more at ease with everything that had recently happened than he was, though he _knew_ she was hurting.  They’d had a chance for a few small chats here and there … nothing too personal or deep, but enough for him to know what had happened to her family and for him to realize he wanted to know more about her.  ‘ _Maker, look at me_ ,’ he thought to himself.  ‘ _I’m smitten.  I’ve only known her a few days, really, and already I can’t stop thinking about her._ ’  It would take a couple more days to reach Redcliff, so he needed to figure out how to tell her.

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~  
They made camp just a bit outside Redcliff; they would reach the village, and the castle, early the next morning.  Alistair knew he had just run out of time; he _had_ to tell her the truth that night, _before_ someone in the village told her for him.  But he didn’t know how to bring it up.  Maker’s breath, why couldn’t he have just told her from the start?  He stoked the fire quietly, watching as she and Sten divvied up the rest of chores for camp.  Somehow, he had managed to avoid being put on food-duty again, much to the relief of a few of their party.  He just had to get the fire going, then help her set up the tents.  

“Regan?”  He stepped over just in time to help her prop up the last support of the first tent.  “Can I … can we talk for a moment?  Alone?”  He hated how nervous he knew he sounded, but he couldn’t help it.

“Let’s get these tents set up, and then I’m all yours.”  

She was a little distracted, knowing they still had several shelters to get standing.  But she _did_ notice he seemed a little … more serious than she had already become used to.  It made her nervous.  Between the pair of them, they made fairly quick progress, stalling only slightly on her tent.  Why _she_ earned a tent alone, she didn’t know, but it wasn’t something she had the energy to argue.  

Finally, she looked over at him and smiled.  “Alright, Alistair; you’ve been acting … well, a little strange since I said we’d go to Redcliff first.  What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, leading her away from the warmth of the fire, just a little.  He wanted as much privacy as he could manage.  At least no one seemed to be paying attention to them.  Morrigan was huddled by her little fire doing Maker only knew what.  Sten was busy hunting with Jasper – the mabari had taken to the Qunari quicker than anyone had expected.  Leliana was busy tending to the food, and the dwarves were … off doing whatever it was they did.  “I … there’s something I need to tell you that … that, well, that I should have probably told you earlier.”

That … didn’t sound all that wonderful.  “I … I’m not going to like this, am I?”  When he started shaking his head, she felt her stomach drop.  Her mind raced, wondering just what it was that he had been hiding.  Was he lying about growing up in Redcliff … about knowing the arl?  She could deal with that, she supposed.  If it came down to needing pull, she _did_ have the Cousland name she could fall back on, for what good it might do.  But what else could it be?  Was he not really a Grey Warden?  Did he have a wife … or a harem … or a husband, for that matter, in Redcliff that he hadn’t wanted her to know about?  She felt her stomach start to churn as her mind came up with possibility after insane possibility, waiting for him to actually speak.

“I … doubt it?  I never liked it, that’s for sure.”  He sighed and looked out into the darkness.  The camp was to his back, the firelight just barely reaching this far, so he could only see vague hints of her expression.  He closed his eyes, took a breath … then a second and third … and a fourth, before finally continuing.  “I told you how Arl Eamon raised me … the whole ‘my mother was a serving girl in the castle and died so he took me in’ ordeal?”  When she nodded, giving him what he _hoped_ was an encouraging smile, he went on.  “The reason he did was … well, because my father … was King Maric, and Cailan is ... was ... my … half-brother.”

Well, _that_ wasn’t quite what she expected.  Here she was, expecting him to say he had a wife that would flay him … or her … alive if they walked into town together, or that he had exaggerated his connection to the arl, or something else entirely.  And he _just_ wanted to tell her that his father was the now-dead king.  Wait a minute ….  “So, you’re not just a bastard, but a _royal_ bastard?”  She couldn’t help it.  Seeing that serious frown on his face just didn’t feel … _right_.  It wasn’t him … not the him she’d seen at _any_ point prior to this, even at the very beginning.  He wasn’t supposed to be that serious.

Did … she just … make a joke?  She _did_ , didn’t she?  She wasn’t yelling at him for keeping it a secret, didn’t seem the least bit angry at all.  Was that even possible?  Could he _really_ be that lucky?  He let himself relax, just a bit, and grinned.  “I guess it does, at that.  I _would_ have told you, but … I never told anyone.  Everyone who knew either resented me, or coddled me because of it.  I was either inconvenient, or too _valuable_ to risk; even Duncan kept me out of the _dangerous_ part of the battle because of it.”  He sighed, dropped his chin to his chest before risking a glance up at her.  “I just … I didn’t want you to know as long as possible.  I just … I guess I wanted … you to get to know … _me_.  I’m sorry.”

“Actually, it was Cailan that wanted us to handle the tower, not Duncan.”  She didn’t know why she mentioned that; it didn’t really matter, but … otherwise this … was a lot to take in.  Regan pursed her lips and just watched him for a moment, letting everything he’d just told her settle in her mind.  Had he actually been acknowledged as one of Maric’s heirs, he might have been among those her mother tried to marry her off to.  Would he have been the same person he was now?  Or would he have been another spoiled fop?  Did it really matter?  He was raised as though he was a dirty secret.  It was really no shock that he hadn’t revealed his parentage before now.  “It’s … it’s OK, Alistair.”  She reached out, rested a hand on his arm as she spoke.  “I understand, more than you might think.”  Being of noble birth wasn’t always sunshine and roses like people thought.  Countless times growing up, she was accused of getting special treatment because she was a teyrn’s daughter … or claims that opponents threw their matches so she could win.

Alistair hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he managed to exhale.  He couldn’t believe she wasn’t angry with him!  He reached out and pulled her into a hug without really realizing what he was doing until his arms were around her.  He froze, eyes going wide until he felt tentative pressure slipping around his waist, hands barely tickling over the fabric of his tunic.  

“So, is it _Prince_ Alistair, then?”  Her voice tickled his skin as she rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the unexpected embrace.  “If my mother had known when she was alive, she’d probably have fired off letters to Arl Eamon, or anyone she could bend the ear of to propose an arranged marriage.”

“Would … would you have … what would you have said?”  Maker, why was he even asking that?  Why had she brought it up in the first place?  Was she teasing him?  Just making idle observations?  Was she being serious?

“Considering she proposed marriage to almost _every_ noble she could think of at one point or another … _except_ for Rendon Howe’s lot, I probably would have thrown the same fit for you that I did for the rest.”  She shifted enough to catch the scent of stew from the camp.  Carefully, she released her hold on him, ignoring the warmth in her cheeks and hoping he didn’t see through her statement.  “We better get back; smells like dinner’s just about ready.”  She watched his face fall when she moved away and tried to ignore the tugging at her chest.  With a wink, she leaned in, brushed lips against his cheek quickly, and whispered, “I might not have thrown much of a fit once I’d met you, though.”

He cleared his throat as heat flooded his cheeks.  Maker’s breath, her lips were _soft_.  His hand flew to the back of his head and he grinned, not caring just how silly he looked.  “So … now we can just … pretend that you still think I’m some … nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens, right?  No one else needs to know about … well … you know ….”

She had just been about to head back to camp when he spoke … and she froze.  Biting her lip, trying not to look _too_ hurt, she turned to look at him.  “That’s … not _really_ what you think, is it?”  He was so much _more_ than a nobody … royal father or not.  He was an astoundingly amazing man; she could see that even in the short time she’d known him.  Already, he was _someone_ to her … somebody special.  

“Well … no,” he admitted, glancing away as he caught her eye.  He hadn’t realized she’d take him literally, though he still felt he was no one important.  Not like _her_.  His stomach started tying itself in tighter knots as he looked back and caught brilliant green eyes again.  A quick swallow to try and quiet his returning nerves, and he finally went on, reaching out to run his fingers along her arm to take her hand.  “What I really think … is that I was lucky enough to survive … with _you_.”


End file.
